Coming Around
by TiniTinuviel
Summary: Funerals can be difficult to understand and navigate. Harry attends Sirius' service with some support from his friends.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing of this world, merely the plot of this particular story.**

**May this be an experience far out of your reach. May the world be kind to you in days of darkness.**

* * *

The guests were waiting.

It was a thought that made Remus sick to his stomach. "They're waiting." Like it was some kind of party. Like Harry was expected to dance and joke and sing for them. He couldn't wrap his head around it. How must he be feeling? Sad, confused, lost, lonely, or worst of all, indifferent? Scratch that – indifferent and not feeling guilty about it.

Harry knew Sirius, but their encounters were hasty, short. It's not as if they'd spent summers and holidays together. They'd never lived just up the road or a short car ride away. Sirius was in most respects, still a stranger.

_But a_ _stranger that listened. One that cared, comforted_. While most people were afraid of shaking hands with Harry, or offering even a casual touch on the arm when he was feeling low, Sirius just hugged him. Years in prison without any human contact lowered that awkward social barrier for him. And that was something Harry needed. A member of his group that wouldn't hesitate over questions of propriety or what other people would think and just provide Harry with something as fundamental and mundane as a hug.

And what were all of these people doing here now? Talking, chatting, milling about. Who was talking to Harry? Nobody. Harry was upstairs in his room at Grimmauld Place while everyone else stood in the freshly cleaned parlour, dodging chairs and furniture, trying to stifle any laughter that arose for the sake of the occasion. It was enough to make him feel ill.

He glanced again to the staircase beyond the door but of course no one was there. It had been nearly forty-five minutes. If Harry hadn't show himself by his own volition yet, he wasn't any more likely to do it now. Extricating himself gently from his conversation with Tonks and Kingsley, he headed cautiously for the stairs.

* * *

What was he thinking? _That everyone can go to Hell._ Well, there was that. Why were all of these people even here? Half of them didn't even know Sirius, half had hunted him and were glad that he'd been imprisoned for a third of his life, and the other half… well, they had legitimate reasons to come, Harry supposed. The worst were the people that had come in crying and now were laughing as if the whole purpose of their visit was erased. What horrible people they were.

Harry sat on his bed. His dress robe draped over his desk chair, his traitorous, choking tie hanging loosely around his neck, mangled and crushed in frustration. Shoulders hunched, he looked down into his lap where his fingers thoughtlessly twirled his wand, his mind wandering to what a useless tool it was in his hands. Of all the possibilities that could have occurred that night, nothing arose from it that would have saved Sirius. All of the planning in the world couldn't have prepared him for that moment, the shock, the fear, the anger. Gods, there was so much anger. Anger at himself, at his friends, at the Order. Frustration at his inability to protect the one person who actually cared about _him_.

And loneliness. He knew that other people had lost loved ones before. He was certainly not the first. Luna had lost her mother, Neville lost both of his parents, Hermione lost her grandmother, Remus, well, Remus had lost just about everyone. Still, all of that seemed different. Their losses somehow didn't compare with his own. Those were not _caused_ by his friends; similarly, his friends couldn't stop those deaths from occurring.

It would always be his own fault when it came to Sirius. On so many levels, it always boiled down to Harry.

A quiet rap on his door drew his attention away from his melancholy enough to call out, "Who is it?"

A pause for hesitancy before, "It's Remus, Harry. Can I come in?"

Harry closed his eyes wearily. What was this going to entail then? A pep talk? A rallying of the troops? That was the last thing Harry wanted. "C'mon, kiddo, can I come in?"

"Sure," Harry replied, just as quietly as previously, this time more resigned.

As Remus slipped in to the room, Harry's doubt about his purposes began to fade. He didn't jauntily bounce into the room or make jokes or even smile. He looked just as grim as Harry felt. "Can I join you?" he asked, indicating sitting on Harry's bed.

"Sure," Harry repeated and tried to shift as unnoticeably as possible as the old bed sank under Remus' weight.

"How are doing?" he asked to which Harry responded tokenly that he was fine. They sat in silence for a long stretch that felt more like several minutes before Remus sighed and stated, "Well, this is a really shitty day, isn't it?" Harry snorted against his will and nodded his head vigorously. Remus pretended not to notice the way color flushed up Harry's neck into his cheeks. "I see your tie felt the same way." Harry rolled his eyes and, figuring Remus wasn't going to encourage him to put it on correctly, pulled it over his head and tossed it on his pillow.

"So," Remus began, deciding to just dive right into it as blunt honesty seemed to be working so far, "what have you been thinking about up here?"

Harry's face dropped to his lap and he began to shake his head. "Nothing. Nothing important." He let it hang in the air a moment before speaking again. "This whole thing totally sucks." His voice was tinged with anger, but Remus could hear how upset he truly was underneath.

"Care to elaborate on that for me?"

Harry sat quietly for a long moment, Remus watching Harry's face as it flickered through emotions and opinions and prejudices. Finally it settled on a mask resembling calm before he began to speak. "I'm not particularly fond of the people who have come here, and I'm especially not happy with my friends." Remus thought he understood why, but asked Harry for clarification nonetheless. "They're all down there talking and joking like nothing has happened. Like this is just any other meeting and they have time to gossip before it starts. Even my friends, who knew Sirius better than half the people down there, aren't taking this seriously. I can hear them messing around down there. Don't they care that he died trying to save them? It's as if they don't appreciate or understand the gravity of his life. To them, this is just another time to see people they haven't seen in months or to- to _mingle_ and make new friends. I mean… _what_ _the_ _hell_?" He broke off sharply and forced himself to take slow breaths. Remus noted that Harry's wand was tangled up in his fingers, held fast even from magic, but in an entirely non-useful position.

"It's very hurtful, isn't it?" Remus offered plainly.

"It's more than that! It's rude and horrible! How would they like it if a bunch of people showed up to their funeral and didn't even talk about them? If they were completely ignored like an unwanted piece of furniture shoved away into the corner?" Remus wondered secretly if Harry was beginning to feel like an old bit of furniture himself, locked away in his room, making no noise and pretending he wasn't there. Outwardly, Remus nodded.

"You want to know what I hate the most about funerals?" Remus asked. Harry tilted his chin in Remus' direction and nodded. "The buzzards that flounce from group of people to group of people telling the same stories about themselves that they've been telling for years. They are in everybody's families, there are always some friends that do it. The people that can't even tell stories about Sirius and remember _him_ on today of all days." Harry nodded his disgust and closed his eyes firmly for a moment, the red of his cheeks still lingering. "The important thing to remember is that they are the minority. Not everyone down there is like that, understand?" Harry didn't answer, didn't give any indication that he'd heard.

"Do you want to know what I do like about today if there is anything to like?" Harry sat quietly, waiting for Remus to answer his own question. "I like that you feel the same way I do. That you remember Sirius as a man who was tough-as-nails but cared about his friends and loved ones more than anything in this world. That he was brave and loyal, protected people and fought for what was right. I like that you are here, remembering Sirius in a way that is meaningful to you."

"Can I ask you a question?" Harry asked, eyes red-rimmed and throat tight.

"Of course," Remus encouraged.

Harry gruffly replied, "Why are you and I the only ones who care that he's dead?"

_There it is,_ Remus thought_._ "We're not, Harry," he rushed to soothe. "We really are not. It may not seem like it, but if people didn't care, they wouldn't have come. Everyone shows their grief in different ways. Some people avoid the topic because it makes them feel uncomfortable, or they just don't know what is and isn't appropriate to say. Some people don't have stories to tell about him because they weren't close, but that doesn't mean that they didn't like him, or didn't appreciate all that he'd done or gone through. Look at Mrs. Weasley; she and Sirius didn't always get along, did they? But she's here because, even though they often did not see eye to eye, she knew what a good, hard-working, loving man he was, that he was good to you and took care of you and always had your best interests at heart. You don't resent her from coming, do you?"

Harry rubbed his hands over his forehead, trying to staunch his building headache, trying to hide his flooding eyes. "No, I suppose not."

"I'm not saying that everyone down there is the same but I am saying that everyone had their own way of caring about Sirius. In the same way, everyone has their method of mourning. Please don't dismiss all these people outright for their behavior. You don't know when, how, or why they shed their tears."

Harry nodded automatically, but too quickly for the situation. He pulled his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose willing himself to keep it together but figuring he was taking part in a losing battle. He forced himself to take long, deep breaths and eventually felt Remus place a hand on his shoulder. Harry nodded again after a number of breaths, _I'm okay,_ and scrubbed his wrist over his eyes to destroy any potential evidence.

A soft knock on the door drew both of their attention and Harry slipped his glasses back on while Remus called, "Come in."

Hermione pressed the door open just enough to slip her head in, but on viewing the pair of them looking so solemn, she slipped in entirely and closed the door behind her.

"Everybody is waiting for you, Harry," she said sympathetically as she sat on the bed across from them, not bothering to smooth the wrinkles out of her black dress.

"Why would they all be waiting for _me_?" he asked genuinely.

She smiled kindly at him and Remus, the same smile she gave first years asking questions so simple and naïve that they were almost adorable. "Of everyone here, you and Remus are the people that knew Sirius the best, and that he cared about the most. We could never start the service without you."

Harry shook his head and twisted his wand in his fingers some more. Hermione shifted her gaze to the professor who gave her a grim look in return. This was a fact that Harry couldn't fathom. Dozens of people down there who couldn't seem to remember why they were sardined into the parlour of Grimmauld Place were acutely aware that he and Remus were missing? The same people talking about their pets and their jobs and their boyfriends? Harry found it hard to believe, but Hermione wouldn't have come up here and said that if it weren't true.

"I know its hard Harry, but I think you should trust us. It's not as bad as you think it is. You might even be surprised by what's being said down there." Harry didn't see how Remus could possibly be so optimistic, everything seemed pretty terrible from his point of view. If he wouldn't have been staring so intently at the floor he would have seen the look that passed between the former professor and his best friend, the look that said, _this may be it, he may finally be coming around_.

After what seemed ages, Harry marshaled his resolve and nodded, standing slowly as an old man. With careful precision, he plucked his robe from his chair and dutifully donned it, shaking his hands to make the arms of the robe fall naturally.

"Do you want your tie?" Hermione asked helpfully, but Harry shook his head and slid his wand into his pocket.

"It will be fine, Harry," Remus comforted. "You'll see."

"I hope so," Harry replied. "Let's just get this over with."

* * *

Harry couldn't have been more surprised when his timid presence immediately caused a shuffle of every last guest into their seat nearly soundlessly. Hermione walked with him up the makeshift aisle in the center of the parlour before taking her own seat which distinctly lacked a spare for Harry. As he stood confused in the aisle, Remus took up Hermione's place at Harry's side and escorted him to the front of the large furniture rows where two spaces were left for the pair of them. The proximity to Sirius' token of remembrance suddenly gave Harry a bone deep chill and a desire to run; the exact opposite of how he'd felt only a few short minutes ago when he was twenty feet above this room.

Remus for his part noticed Harry's discomfort and stealthily took Harry's hand, giving it a surreptitious squeeze. Harry exhaled heavily and squeezed back, determined to be strong for the next hour and not let his already oscillating emotions get the better of him. But as in most situations such as this it didn't work. There was no stopping the tears from pattering onto the legs of his trousers although the speed at which they came varied considerably throughout the service. The only thing keeping him from complete and utter embarrassment was that Remus would occasionally swipe at his eyes too.

Tears mostly slowed while hymns were sung. Harry didn't know them and was forced to stand silently throughout while the other wizards sang dolefully, including Hermione. _Of course she would have researched the customs of wizarding funerals_, Harry thought with regret. Was he dishonoring Sirius by not knowing the words or even the tune? He closed his tightly through most of them, trying to block out the painful sound of his betrayal as memories of Sirius singing Christmas songs flooded his brain. Had he closed his eyes less tightly, he was sure the tears would have run faster than ever.

Customary words were spoken and traditions followed that Harry had no knowledge of. He tried to keep his attention focused on the words and their importance but every so often his mind would drift to something Sirius had said or done at any time throughout their acquaintance. Now it was their hasty parting after he and Hermione had rescued him from the Hogwarts tower in third year. Now it was a letter received in cold, late November regarding proper attire for the Yule Ball. Now it was false visions scattershot through the past year that led Harry directly into Sirius' death. Harry would mentally shake himself when these bouts hit and renewed his efforts to stay in the moment. He wasn't sure if Remus ever noticed his departures from the present or not.

He wasted little focus on the witches and wizards that stood up to speak about Sirius. In the end, he knew those that stood spoke honestly and in this crowd there was no purpose for self-serving inaccuracies. But he was tired and by this point felt little in regards to the feeling of others beyond that fact that they actually felt something. Occasionally he would notice a louder, more cohesive group of sniffles emanating from the crowd behind him. Other times a small chuckle would ripple through the room. But mostly the changes were associated with the aura of the parlour. An ebb and flow of emotions ranging from amusement to remorse, regret to longing, and finally culminating in peace and hope. It was only when the sofa Harry was seated on sunk down to his left that he noticed Remus was the speaker bringing hope to the Order. The feeling of hope seemed foreign that day, _what in the world would one hope for?_ but the seed had been planted nonetheless. As the gathered members rose from their sofas and armchairs in one last respectful salute to Sirius, Harry understood why people had been laughing and smiling before the service began. Sirius' happiness, playfulness, and goodness were what people remembered the most about him. It seemed a disservice to his memory to dwell on anything less.

And when the time came for the final tradition, Harry felt as if his legs has been swept out from beneath him. Had there been a body, the whole of Grimmauld Place would have emptied into the street and proceeded to a cemetery, but as it was they proceeded to a different but no less honorable tradition: the ceremonial passing of Sirius' token to his next of kin. The token was of course picked out by those surviving him and Sirius had so few possessions. Most items in his room were from his childhood or teenage years. Most of his things from the time spent living with the Potters and his father after they'd graduated were destroyed when he had been sentenced to life in Azkaban. His time spent after escaping was pointedly not consumed with material possessions.

Yet as Harry stood there alone in front of the gathered with only Remus before him completing the tradition, Harry felt the dam burst in his heart. In his hands was the perfect symbol for Sirius and his life. How Remus had discovered it, Harry couldn't even begin to fathom. In all its simplicity, it spoke to his godfather's humor and love, his pride and loyalty, even his temper and capacity for sadness. It was all the things he admired and remembered about Sirius and all the things he never wanted to forget. He was aware, distantly, of many people beginning to cry again and only discovered he was as well when Remus pulled him close and he felt tears being swept off his cheeks to be absorbed by his old professor's robes. Gradually, others began to stand approaching one by one to offer comfort, kind words, or another hug.

Harry was confident that he hadn't even looked at over half of the people who spoke to him so consumed he was with holding himself together and vowing to never break or lose the token clutched tightly in his hands. The spell was only broken when Mrs. Weasley approached and hugged him so warmly he thought he could die happily in that embrace and would he get to see Sirius again? Tears began afresh at the thought and Mrs. Weasley hugged him tighter until the bout began to lessen. _Would this day and these reactions never end?_

_Apparently not_, he thought as he felt her tears on his own shoulder which caused more of his own to fall. He could never tell how long they stood thus before her comforting voice broke through his sobs. "It will get better, dear," her whispered promise echoed as she pulled back from her embrace and kissed his forehead, his eyes staring unwaveringly at his feet. "It never feels like it will, but it always does. Believe me."

"I can't," he whispered, "it won't."

"It will. As they say, 'The worst is over,'" she assured him, while secretly not believing the old saying in the least. '_Time heals all hearts,' what more utter nonsense_, she thought. But love, love heals those broken, torn, tattered, and grieving hearts. As she glanced behind Harry to where Remus stood, she saw the same look in his eyes and knew that one day Harry too would move with this. Not _past_ it as some would believe for one never walks beyond the death of their family but walks with it, older, wiser, and more compassionate. He would survive Sirius' passing in all manners of the word. Harry's bravery would be augmented by the memory of his godfather's. Remus and Molly both knew that for the next little while Harry's world would unexpectedly turn into the darkest of greys and back as memories flooded and receded within him, but they vowed however silently to rescue him as the occasions arose. To watch over him and help him whenever the situation presented itself.

They couldn't allow Harry to be alone again, especially after this. They only prayed that the encroaching war would see no further harm to his family. They prayed that it never bring cause to destroy him all over again.

They prayed.


End file.
